Lenny congratulated himself as he sat in stopped traffic heading east on the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. His business trip had been successful so far—that’s what he called his runs up the coast—and he had one more stop in Delaware before he could get home to Suz. He’d only been running cocaine for a few years, since about ’84, but he’d made enough to propose to her with a fine ring. Not so ostentatious that it aroused suspicion, but high quality. Custom-made.
He liked the idea of custom-made, one-of-a-kind. He wanted to have things no one else could. They didn’t have to be the biggest or fanciest, just unique. That’s what attracted him to Suz. She would never be a model with that purple birth mark on her cheek, but it made her special, like she was tattooed by the Universe for him. She kept herself in shape, and was always doing something bizarre with her hair. Her latest was to color it green and shave it like Annie Lennox.
They were building a house together. Suz had been in school for architecture before she dropped out, so they got into reading the blueprints while drunk in their underwear. He’d met some of the soon-to-be neighbors the last time he went to inspect the progress, and was delighted that they introduced themselves, then left him alone. He liked people who kept to themselves.
Now he was thinking about Suz, and the negligee he’d bought for her in Miami. He couldn’t wait to tackle her onto the blueprints when she modeled it for him. The windows were down, and Billy Idol was blasting on the radio, a breeze coming in from the sparkling water. It was a glorious October day, with a bright fall sun and about 65 degrees—perfect to have a bonfire tonight with some hard cider. A few barges in the Bay inched toward their destinations, on their way to deliver cars or steel or, hell, maybe even cocaine. He laughed at the idea of moving product on a slow barge. He may be stalled in traffic, but this bridge was always that way. Today’s stoppage was probably a suicide attempt; they called it a “water rescue” on the news. Jumpers liked the Bay Bridge; it was the only one in the area high enough to result in death 90 percent of the time. Pity the other ten percent.
Lenny didn’t mind the wait. He didn’t draw attention in the modest sedan he used for business, the only time he liked to blend in. He kept his product under a false floor in the back seat obscured by a balled-up hoodie and some crinkly Taco Bell wrappers, except for a private pouch in his satchel, small enough for a slap on the wrist for a respectable businessman if he was searched. He loosened his tie, slid on his sunglasses, and turned the music up.
It was a perfect day. Lenny suspected the day, with its sunshine and sweet breeze, was orchestrated specifically for him. He’d always believed he was charmed, and not without evidence. Wasn’t he the good-looking one in his family, the stand-out among preposterously average siblings? He’d been homecoming king, captain of the football team. He cheated enough on his SATs to get into a Big Ten party school, but not enough to get caught. He sailed through business in college. Even on this trip, he left the scene of a deal ten minutes before the police raided. Something told him to go, so he went. Yes, the Universe was on his side. It was saving him for something, and it was making sure he had a smooth ride and a good time along the way.
“I’d sell my soul for you, Babe,” Lenny sang to a seagull coasting outside his window, “For money to burn, with—”
A child’s face popped up in his window, obscuring his view of the bird. He thought it was a vision, the kid moved so quickly. Perhaps it was a celestial visitor.
“What do you have for me?” Lenny shouted over the music, though the child continued to look solid and filthy.
“Hide us!” shouted the kid, as he reached through the window and popped the lock, opened the door, and dove in. He melted onto the floor, curled up among the wrappers.
Lenny turned the radio down. “Whoa, you don’t want to get down in all that muck. It’s dirty. Come sit on the seat.” Angels come in strange disguises, he reminded himself, trying not to inhale the child’s sweat.
The kid lifted his head. “He’s after us! Hide us!” He ducked down again, but Lenny had seen the tell-tale rings around the eyes that meant a broken nose.
In Lenny’s rearview a man strode between cars. He was built like The Thing, and he looked pissed. Clenching his fists, t-shirt sleeves stretched over thigh-thick biceps, he’d strut up to a car and look through the back windows before thrusting his face at the driver. Everyone had their windows open. The man shouted questions, but Lenny couldn’t hear. A few rows behind, a pickup sat in traffic with both doors open.
Lenny slid down in his seat. He wasn’t a small man—he still had his football physique—but this hulk was too big for him to fight. He couldn’t flee; traffic hadn’t moved for twenty minutes. And no way would he let that bruiser find the kid. Lenny’s dad had broken Lenny’s wrist once yanking him out of the car, and it still hurt when it snowed. This was what he was made for. He would outsmart that asshole and get this kid to safety. He could imagine the look on Suz’s face when he told her he’d rescued a beaten boy.
“Hey, kid,” he whispered. “Kid!”
The grimy head poked up from the floor. The kid’s nose veered sickeningly to the left, and his cheek glowed an angry purple.
“Jesus, kid. Were you hit by a train?”
“No, by Mac, like the truck. That’s what everyone calls my step-dad.”
A squeak startled Lenny, and a brown fuzzy head poked out of the kid’s jacket.
“Look out!” Lenny grabbed the newspaper from the passenger seat and swatted at the tiny head.
“Stop!” The boy threw his hands up protectively. “Don’t hurt Son Goku!”
Lenny stopped mid-swat. “What the hell is a Son Goku?”
“Not what, who. He’s a fighter from Dragon Ball. You know, on TV? I named my squirrel after him.”
“Is that what that is? I thought a rat had gotten in here with all the wrappers. Let’s see it.”
The kid peeled back the edge of his filthy jacket. The squirrel complained, as it had been nibbling on the collar. Son Goku sported a beautiful reddish coat, like a high-society cartoon fox, but he looked thin.
“Huh,” Lenny said, “Cute.” Why did the Universe bother with squirrels? They seemed pointless. “And who are you, Keeper of Son Goku?”
“Aiden,” the boy said. “Are you going to give us back to Mac, Mister?”
The kid’s voice shook, but he looked Lenny in the eye. What a little spitfire.
“No, Aiden, I’m not. And call me Lenny.”
“Don’t you want to know what we did?”
“Nope. I know guys like your step-dad. Ain’t nothing a kid could do that would warrant a broken nose.”
Aiden looked down. “I didn’t close my door all the way. It was my fault. I was running late and I pulled it and didn’t check if it closed. Son Goku was a secret, and he got out and ate the edges of Mac’s special collection.”
“Special collection?”
“The magazines under his bed. He tried to shoot him! He missed, though, and broke a lamp and put a hole in the wall. I showed him that Son Goku only nibbled the edges. You could still see all the girlie bits, but that made him madder. That’s when he—”
“He did that to your face.”
“Yeah. Please help us! Mac said he was going to throw Son Goku off the bridge! But when he tried to grab him from me when traffic stopped, SG bit him in the hand. That’s when we ran.”
“I’ll do my best.” Lenny sat up tall. Mac was two rows behind them now. “Your step-daddy looks pretty mean. Anything I should know? He carrying a knife?”
“I don’t think so. But he might have his gun. He’s a cop.”
Lenny slid down again. A cop. Now he had to worry about his product in addition to a beating. What was the Universe asking of him? Was this all a mistake? It couldn’t be coincidence. It’s not every day a kid with a squirrel jumps into your car and says “save me.” He had to trust the Universe would provide what he needed when he needed it.
Mac was one car behind now. “Hey, Aiden. Can you sneak over the seat? There’s more stuff to hide under.”
“Yes, Mr. Lenny.”
“It’s just Lenny,” he said as the kid slunk behind him.
Lenny braced himself for the big head to thrust through his window. He wouldn’t jump and appear weak. He turned the radio up, sat up straight, and stared out toward the water on his right, planning to turn casually to his left when Mac appeared. But when Mac popped up on the passenger’s side, Lenny squealed.
Mac scowled and looked around the front seat, then glanced in the back, and returned his gaze to the front. “You seen a kid run through here?”
“Here?” asked Lenny, feigning surprise. His voice sounded too high, too tight. He lowered it below his normal speaking level. “What would a kid be doing running in bridge traffic?”
“Never mind what, have you seen him?”
“No, I haven’t. What does he look like?” That was good. Yeah. Thanks, Universe.
“Brown hair. Scrawny. Up to no good.”
“I’ll keep an eye out!” Too eager. Calm down. “If I see him, what should I do?”
Mac scowled again, then opened the door and squeezed himself into the front seat. Like father, like son.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to lie low here for a minute, see if the kid pops up when he can’t see me.” Mac reached into his back pocket.
“Whoa!” Lenny threw up his hands. “It’s cool! You can stay!”
“Relax,” snorted Mac, pulling out his badge and flashing it. “I’m a cop.”
“Oh! Well, officer—”
“Mulrooney.”
“Officer Mulrooney. I’m pleased to be able to help! Were you taking the hooligan to Juvie?”
“To what? No, it’s my kid. Step-kid. Just a little misunderstanding.” Mac turned to Lenny and smiled, and his face looked like the entrance to Alcatraz.
Mac attempted to slide down in the seat, but his knees hit the dash, so he pulled his baseball cap lower over his face. His eyes darted ahead, never settling on anything. At any movement, Mac jumped and reached for the doorknob.
“Is that your truck back there, with the doors open?” Lenny shouted over the music.
Mac grunted.
“You sure you want to leave it back there? Maybe the kid will go back to the truck and find it empty…”
“I’m sure.”
Lenny stared at the car in front of him, waiting for the Universe to fill his head, then nodded and tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel in time to the radio, “Rock Me Amadeus.” Mac glanced sideways at him, but said nothing. When the chorus came on, Lenny burst out in a warbly falsetto, “Baby baby, do it to me rock me, baby—” and shimmied his shoulders.
Mac snapped the radio dial so hard the knob came off. “That’s distracting.” He threw the knob over his shoulder.
A small scratching noise emanated from the back seat.
“What’s that?” grumbled Mac.
“Just a loose belt.” Belts don’t scratch! “Bolt. A loose bolt I’ve been meaning to tighten,” said Lenny. That’s good, he thought, and thanked the Universe again. He raised his voice and added, “Sometimes when I hit the steering wheel it stops,” and gave the wheel a thwack.
The sound continued, so Lenny cleared his throat, casting around for something to say.
“Looks like you hurt your hand,” he said.
Mac looked down as if he forgot those hands belonged to him. They were each as big as a tomcat. His right hand had a grungy scrap of paper towel wrapped around it, blood soaking through like a Rorschach test.
“Scraped it on the edge of my truck.”
“Maybe you should have that looked at.”
“It’s fine.”
“If your truck is rusty—and I’m not saying it is, it looks lovely from here, well, not lovely, trucks are really more manly than lovely, but it’s nice-looking, you know? Can you say a truck is handsome? —but if there’s any rust at all you could get tetanus and die.”
“You’re distracting me.”
The scratching continued. Lenny blundered on louder. “What’s your step-kid’s name? I dated a girl with a kid once. Gorgeous girl. Five feet tall but poised, you know? She wore her red hair in two braids like that kid’s book—what’s it called?”
“Shut. UP!” Mac yelled.
A moment of silence passed with only the sound of Mac’s heavy breathing, then the scratching started again.
“Pipi Longstockings!” Lenny shouted. “But she wasn’t like a child at all, if you know what I mean,” Lenny elbowed Mac in the bicep. It felt like cement. “But her kid, a girl, was only two when—”
Mac let out a guttural growl like a grizzly bear that can’t get the lid off a garbage can, and punched the passenger door.
“Listen, asshole,” Mac said, “I don’t know why you’re fucking with me, but if you know what’s good for you, you will keep your trap closed and your eyes peeled for my kid!”
“Fine, man,” cooed Lenny, as to a vicious dog. “We can be cool.”
As they fell back into silence, the scratching from the back got louder, faster, desperate. Mac reached over and pounded on the steering wheel, punctuating each blow with a word, “Fix. Your. Damn. Bolt!”
A squeal emanated from the back. As each of the men turned around, a red streak flew between their faces and landed on the dash.
“You piece of shit!” yelled Mac. “Is the kid here too? I’m going to pound you so hard they won’t be able to tell which grease smear on the pavement is your head and which is your ass!” He grabbed Lenny by the collar, but Lenny was captivated by Son Goku.
Lenny had never seen a squirrel high on cocaine. He didn’t know a lot about squirrels, but he was pretty sure their eyes didn’t twitch, and when he’d glimpsed Son Goku before, his tail had been straight, not suspended in an electric-bolt zig-zag. Worse was the foaming mouth. The squirrel’s jaw vibrated, sending pillows of foam flying in all directions. Oblivious to the fist headed for his face, Lenny wondered how much of his baggie the creep had nibbled his way through.
Mac’s fist hit Lenny in the jaw at an angle, knocking it out of its socket. Lenny’s head whipped to the side, torquing his neck.
“For you, Universe!” he tried to shout, but with his jaw hanging loose and snot pooling with blood in his mouth, it sounded like a soup of vowels. Mac grabbed a fistful of hair at the back of Lenny’s head just as Aiden popped out of hiding. “Mac, stop! I’ll come with you!” he cried, but it was too late. Lenny’s nose broke as it hit the steering wheel, causing a long aggressive honk. His eyes could barely open, but as his head came up the driver in front flipped him the bird. The answer from the Universe for his offering.
Lenny laughed, a chuckle at first, growing to loud, staccato huffs. Mac grabbed his hair again, but before he could deliver another blow, Son Goku shrieked like an angry crow and leapt onto Mac’s shoulder. He gnawed and ripped at Mac’s ear with a sick, slick slurping. Mac’s eyes registered rage, then surprise, then fear.
Lenny’s laughter became guttural and full, mixed with jags of coughing from the blood trickling down his throat. Mac tried to pry Son Goku off, but the squirrel was dug in like a tick. Aiden tried, but in Mac’s flailing his hand hit Aiden in his already-broken nose, sending the boy back to the floor. Son Goku flung himself on top of Mac’s head, scratching at his eyes. Mac screamed and reached for the door. He fell onto the pavement on all fours, blood flowing from his ear and eyes, then stood and stumbled, trying to pull the squirrel off his head. He thudded onto the hood of the car next to them, and the driver—a woman in her 50s with long, silver hair —jumped out. She yelled, “Sir, let me help you!” and he spun toward her, knocking her down with his elbow. She landed with a smack and howled that he’d broken her wrist. Mac, blinded, backed away from the screaming woman and into the rail of the bridge, where his high center of mass carried him over the edge.
There was a moment of silence—even the pavement lady stopped wailing—into which Aiden sat up and looked around, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Son Goku? Mac? Where’d they go?”
Lenny started laughing again, ramping up into hysteria. Aiden turned to him, but all Lenny could do was point toward the rail and laugh until tears streamed down his swollen cheeks. Aiden jumped out of the car, leapt over the sprawled woman who would never be the same, and looked over the rail.
Lenny kept laughing. He couldn’t stop. The Universe was so damn funny, he just couldn’t stop.